


Don't Watch the Knife, Watch the Eyes

by CobaltLane (stopmopingstarthoping)



Series: Hope's Kinktober 2019 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cutting, F/M, Knifeplay, Mild Blood, Porn with Feelings, Safe Sane and Consensual, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 15:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20876759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/CobaltLane
Summary: Natasha and Bucky explore feelings of safety and trust in somewhat unconventional ways.





	Don't Watch the Knife, Watch the Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly probably would have rated this M if not for the knife. The blood is also not extensive.

“You still wanna go through with this?” Bucky’s voice rasped low in his throat; Natasha had wrestled him down to the bed, strong and insistent, and he pulled back, disheveled dark strands falling into his face.

“If you would be so kind.” A mock-demure smile hovered around plush lips, and Nat’s sea-green gaze burned into him with a request louder than her casual words might suggest. She was _ into this _, and their previous discussions had confirmed it, but he was still nervous.

Could he trust himself? Even after everything? Even with her?

She saw his hesitation, and tucked his hair back with a calming hand. “I trust you. And so should you. Don’t forget you can safeword out too if you want.”

He nodded, and leaned down to kiss her. It started wanting and got rougher, like it always did with them, and the soft, kind fingers in his hair started to grip and pull. 

Natasha rolled her hips up against him and arched one of her expressive eyebrows at him when he sat back and pulled off his shirt. She trailed one teasing finger down his chest and wriggled happily, not adjusting her own cotton tee at all. Waiting.

The knife was on the side table, and he stood to get it, taking a breath before walking back to her. He watched her gaze flick to his hips, his shoulders, his eyes, before relaxing again and watching the light flicker on the blade, and Bucky grinned to himself. A professional to the last. Those instincts, and not being able to completely turn them off, maybe ever, were part of the reason their broken pieces were able to fit together.

Bucky angled the knife in front of him and looked from the blade, to Nat, and back again. She widened her eyes expectantly. He let a stealthy smile creep across his lips and stepped closer. Her chest started to rise and fall faster in anticipation.

He crawled up to settle himself on her thighs and changed his grip on the knife, not taking his eyes off her. Nat was motionless, save for her breath; a perfect specimen of discipline. Bucky eased the tip of the knife under her shirt and watched her bite her lip.

“That for my benefit?” he asked. Allowing a reaction was probably calculated, but it was a flattering calculation.

“Mostly.” The word was more than a whisper, but just.

Heat bloomed under his own skin watching the point of the knife pierce through the black fabric. He sliced it away, carefully and slowly, studied and precise. The blade was clean and sharp, without the ugly serrated edge his old combat blades had had. And who knew, maybe Nat’s too. They’d never talked about that, particularly, but as the last scraps of the black fabric fell away, Bucky found himself wondering.

Maybe later. He waited a moment, homing back to those green eyes again, always. Touching back to that glance that felt as close to safety as anything ever had. There was understanding there, and today, the smallest bit of vulnerability that made his chest tighten. Bucky wondered how much of that expression was real and honest and how much was meant to reassure him that he was good to proceed. 

He exhaled.

Did it matter?

Sometimes digging through the layers of what they were, asking what was authenticity and what was artifice, was stupid. Senseless, like trying to figure out whether the depths or the surface was the true ocean.

He looked down and watched the point of the knife scrape a pink line down pale skin. He felt far away for a moment, detached from the action like someone else was doing it.

That wasn’t good.

Bucky stopped and shifted his weight back, lifting the knife. Without being told, Natasha reached up and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, skin on skin.

With a breath, he nodded in answer to her unasked question. His other hand, the metal one, found her other hand and laced fingers through it, in defiant answer to the questioning doubts haunting the back of his mind. 

It was Natasha’s turn to nod, fiery hair splayed out on the pillow under him. 

The knife was steady. 

He focused on it, pressing deep enough to make a tiny cut. (Not incision, not laceration, not any of the technical, clinical terms that tried to force their way in. He pulled back again, at that.) A small, angled line right along her ribs, and Natasha craned her neck up to see it, smiled a slow smile, released his hand to brush her fingertip across it, and caught a single drop of blood on her own fingertip. 

The tiny speck of blood was...a lot, for Bucky. A breath came fast, then another one. Their safeword, _ krasny _, hovered at the edge of his thoughts, an emergency rope to pull if the wave of emotion this caused was too much. 

It wasn’t.

Defiantly, he grabbed at her wrist and brought her finger to his mouth. As his tongue caressed her fingertip, pulling the tiny metallic taste into his mouth, she grinned at him. Free and open, acknowledging that they were both a little twisted, a little fucked up (a lot?), but owning it.

Natasha caught her lower lip with her teeth again as Bucky slid the knife under the center of her bra and sliced up with a delicate motion. It sprang free, and Bucky watched her rosy nipples harden, under his gaze, out in the air; both probably.

Another light scratch, just for contrast; Bucky was starting to enjoy this more, and a sideways grin that felt like it had been in hiding for decades crept across his own face.

“You like this?” The cocky cadence could have come from his twenty-year-old mouth; it was a question meant to taunt rather than one looking for a real answer, but she did anyway.

“You know I do.”

Her voice would have brought Bucky to his knees if he wasn’t there already. As it was, the low, throaty tone made his cock throb in his jeans. She reached up and ran her fingers over it, aware of him as always. Bucky lifted the knife well away from her skin.

“You’re distracting me, Natasha.”

“I thought that was the point.” Her tone was higher now, more playful, but no less devastating.

“It can be.” Bucky paused. “Can you take one more for me? ”

She rolled her eyes; she could take a hundred more, of course, but that wasn’t the point. He was going to own this role, cheesy dom lines and all. The rush of having beaten something, even if that something was damage buried in his own psyche, was heady, and Bucky didn’t want to let go of it quite yet.

Natasha lifted her arms over her head, a self-satisfied smirk on her face watching Bucky watch her breasts. She crossed her wrists.

“Ready when you are.” That husky, low tone was back and this time it was Bucky who rolled his hips against her before lowering the blade again. A blush he knew well was starting to creep across Natasha’s chest to match the one on her cheeks.

Steady pressure, but not enough to break the skin. Her breath was even, until she held it. Bucky pressed harder, and made another thin red line under the first, angled the same way. Asymmetrical, because he liked it, and for no other reason.

A sound between a hum and a moan escaped Nat’s lips, and that stealthy hand returned to palm at the front of Bucky’s jeans.

“You still green, babe?”

“Yeah.” Bucky heard his own voice rasp, and set the knife on a cloth on the counter. It had done its job. His grin returned as he peeled off what remained of his clothes, enjoying Natasha’s eyes on him. 

Crawling back to the bed, Bucky traced the second small line with his tongue, listening to Natasha moan and feeling her move under him. He moved on to a nipple, and then another, keeping the pressure light and teasing. 

After a few minutes, she grabbed him by the hair with one hand, and shoved his hand into the front of her jeans with the other. Her eyes were wide and insistent.

“I have been _ so patient, James_.”

He laughed, and captured her full lips in a kiss, feeling her nails scrape against the scruff on his jaw. 

Despite her fervent complaints, Bucky took his time. Natasha was so keyed up though, he could only keep her hovering on the edge for so long. She was uncharacteristically loud when she finally let go and squeezed around him, shattering whatever resolve he might have been clinging to at that point.

Bucky buried his face in Nat’s neck and gasped, tasting her sweat and the spicy perfume she wore and the feel of her against his lips. He pulled back to look at her eyes again, and her palm cupped his cheek.

“Thanks,” she breathed, and it was unguarded and honest. 

Instead of words, Bucky kissed her again, and she understood. She always had. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober 2019 Day 2, prompt knife play.


End file.
